Better
by crowninspanish
Summary: Peter tries to make sense of his new world and the man who left him behind to save it.


Peter wakes up sometimes and forgets.

It's nice, those precious few seconds he gets to stare at his bedroom ceiling and listen to Aunt May shuffling around in the kitchen and New York commuters honking their horns blocks away. He thinks about what tests he might have today and how late he might get away with being out on patrol tonight and what Mr. Stark might think of his new idea for his web shooters the next time he's at the Compound.

And then he remembers. It's always just as painful as the first morning he woke up in 2023 and it takes his breath away. He went on a field trip one morning in 2018, and the next day he had died and come back, fought in the biggest war the universe had ever seen, and watched Tony die right in front of him. Five years had gone by but from where he stood it had just been one day of his worst nightmare.

Peter doesn't know how he gets out of bed, most days. He actually paces his room late at night and worries about this. There's this feeling that one day he's going to lay down and find he doesn't have the strength to get back up again. He'll stare at the ceiling for the rest of his life and memorize all the cracks and imperfections and uneven paint jobs. His sensitive ears will pick up on the sounds of the city all the way from Manhattan and the sun will be blinding in the afternoons, but Peter knows that he would be able to ignore it all if it meant he got to ignore what his life had become. It terrifies him.

He wasn't exactly a stranger to depression, with Uncle Ben and all, but back then he had Spiderman to lean on. It was a way to ease to guilt and the grief, to give back to the world after he had let a man like Ben leave it. Now both of his suits were stuffed in the back of his closet gathering dust. The nanotech suit sat in its little housing compartment, but even looking at that sent Peter straight back to Titan and the ruins of the Avengers compound. His Stark suit just hurt too much to look at. The bright blues and reds he used to adore showing off in seem almost garish and disrespectful now. He's not sure he's ever going to be able to put it on again.

Peter doesn't have Spiderman anymore. But he needs to get out of bed and go to school and pretend to function, because he doesn't know what else there is to do. He lays still in bed a few more minutes, working up the motivation, and then he kicks his sheets off and plants his bare feet on the floor. There. He did it.

His phone buzzes on his desk, once, twice, three times. On autopilot, Peter reaches out and swipes at the screen, pulls up his messages. There's three texts from an unknown number.

_Hey Queens._

_ It's Sam Wilson. Pepper gave me your number. Steve insisted I use the nickname. Get used to it because I can't say no to an old man._

_ A few of us are starting on rebuilding the Compound. Thought you might want some input. Something tells me you're going to spend a lot of time there. _

Peter blinks, wondering for a second if he's still dreaming. The last time he spoke to Sam Wilson it was in Germany, two- no, seven- years ago. He had thrown heavy objects at him and webbed him to the floor, and then Sam had thrown him through a window. It all felt like a very long time ago. What had they even been fighting over?

Still, it was a little unnerving having the new Captain America texting you. Peter rushed to type out a response.

_Sorry but im not really doing the spiderman thing anymore_

_ Thanks though_

There's an immediate response.

_That's what you say now, kid. There's no pressure. But I think you should be a part of this. _

There's nothing after that, but the little typing bubble is still up. Peter watches it go in and out for a full minute. Somewhere else in New York, Sam is debating on whether to say what he wants to say. Peter wonders at what it could be.

He grows impatient after a while and puts the phone back down on his desk, but he barely gets across his room to pull out a clean shirt when it buzzes again insistently. Peter stares at it for second; he gets the feeling that he's not going to like whatever Sam has finally decided to send to him.

He's right, in a way.

_I've got something that belongs to you. Might change your mind. _

And Peter just _knows. _

…_.._

That night, after a long day of chemistry tests and PE and a bus ride to Brooklyn and back, Peter sits on his bed with his laptop propped up on his knees. Sam gave him an unassuming black flash drive with no explanation, not even as to where it came from, but Peter stares at the small Stark Industries logo printed in white at the base and he knows. Part of him wants to toss it away with his forgotten suits and just be allowed to _move on, goddammit, _but there's a curiosity tugging in his chest that he hasn't felt in a long, long time.

So he jams the flash drive into his laptop and opens the files with shaking fingers, leaned back against his pillows like if he's far enough away whatever is inside can't hurt him. What loads immediately fills the screen- hundreds upon hundreds of different programs and folders. There's a single document at the very top that catches his eye. It is simply titled, _Peter. _He clicks on it.

_If you've gotten a hold of this, I'm either dead or you've suddenly got very good at hacking into my shit. I'm sorry I couldn't stick around, but I had to save the goddamn universe one last time. And get you back. The world doesn't need Iron Man anymore., or Tony Stark. I've had my run. But somebody's got to improve on all this kickass stuff I've created over the years, and that somebody's you, Pete. Everything is in here- the nanotech, Friday, Karen, SI research, all of it. I don't care what you do with it, as long as you do something. The world needs Spiderman, but it also needs Peter Parker. _

That's it. Nine short sentences to explain why exactly Tony Stark had decided to gift Peter with his life's work as one of his last acts. It's ridiculous, insane, even- Peter is a kid in Queens with a shitty laptop and a questionable talent for making homemade supersuits, and he should not be trusted with the products of one of the world's most genius minds.

But it's very much what Tony Stark would do. And so, even without those nine sentences, Peter understands.

Six years ago, he had stood on a bridge with Iron Man and overlooked the mess he had created with the ferry. _If you even cared, you'd actually be here, _he had told Iron Man, and then Iron Man had turned into Tony, and to Tony he had said, _I just wanted to be like you. _

_ And I wanted you to be better. _

Six years. Now, Peter sits on his bed crying silently with the last words Tony Stark will ever say to him, and he understands.


End file.
